The Horror of Briarwych Church

by Amy Cross

  “Can you get on with it?” I ask, glancing through the open doorway and once again seeing the gloomy corridor that runs along the interior of the church. I still feel that same sense of being watched, as if someone or something is at the corridor's far end. “Drive the bloody thing inside so we can shut the door!”

  “That's what I'm trying to do,” he replies, “but I think these controls are broken.”

  “They're not broken, you're just not -”

  “Okay, I think I've got it.”

  He adjusts another of the dials, and then he pushes a small joystick. The truck revs for a moment, before driving head-first into the wall.

  “Give that to me!” I sigh, grabbing the controls from his hands. I take a look for a moment at the various buttons, and then I realize how they work. Almost immediately, I manage to reverse the truck away from the wall, and then I drive it smoothly through the open doorway and into the corridor. “Now can you please shut the door?” I ask. “It's giving me the chills.”

  “Fine,” he mutters, before swinging the door shut and securing the lock.

  Looking down at his laptop, I see that the camera feed from the truck is working perfectly, showing a view of the corridor from low down on the ground. I drive the truck forward a few meters, and then I stop it again.

  “Is there really any point to this?” I ask. “Won't she just smash it, like she smashed the microphone?”

  “She might,” he replies, watching the video feed intently, “or she might not. Whatever she does, her reaction will be instructional.” He makes a few adjustments on the laptop. “I need to know for certain what she is.”

  “I thought you said that already,” I point out. “She's a ghost. Not that I necessarily believe you, but I thought that's what you believed.”

  “She's not acting like a ghost,” he replies. “Not entirely. I'm worried that there's something we're missing.”

  “Like -”

  “Take it forward a little way,” he continues. “Not too far.”

  “How's a ghost supposed to act?” I ask, as I drive the truck very carefully along the corridor and then stop it again. “Is that okay?”

  “That's perfect.” He peers at the laptop. “Where did you sense her presence the most, Mark?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Don't tell me you didn't sense something, because I know you did.”

  I pause, before realizing that there's no point arguing with him.

  “That wall, actually,” I admit, as I watch the video feed. “It's crazy, but I felt like someone was standing there and watching me. I felt the same thing in other parts of the church, but that wall is definitely where I felt it the most.” I feel a shiver pass across my shoulders as I realize that I seem to be starting to believe all this crap. “I dunno,” I add, “it might have been nothing.”

  “No, I think I felt the same thing,” he mutters, as he takes a couple of items from his pocket and sets them on the ground. “Can you drive the truck very slowly in that direction? Be ready to stop as soon as I tell you.”

  I start driving the truck along the corridor, but I can't help glancing at the items that he just removed from his pocket. One of them is a vial, just like the vial he was holding earlier in the church.

  “So is that really holy water?” I ask.

  “Hmm?” He looks at the vial for a moment, before turning back to the monitor. “Yes, it is. Just for protection. Just in case.”

  “What makes it holy?”

  “It's been blessed.”

  “By who?”

  “By me, Mark. Now focus on what we're doing.”

  I continue to drive the truck along the corridor, but again I glance at the vial.

  “So how's it different?” I ask.

  “I told you, it's been -”

  “Yeah, but what does that change?”

  “It means that the water can be used as a sacramental. The exact role and nature of holy water changes from one religion to the next, but it's used in Catholicism, Buddhism, Islam and many others.”

  “And you're Catholic, right?”

  “I'm lots of things, Mark,” he replies, still watching the screen. “Keep going.”

  “How can you be lots of religions at once?”

  “I simply meant that I incorporate elements from various practices,” he continues, sounding a little annoyed. “That's my job. I have to consider all possibilities, from all faiths. Believe me, it's a tricky situation.”

  “So this holy water, is it -”

  “Stop the truck.”

  I do as I'm told, but when I look at the screen I still don't see anything other than the bare wall.

  “Can any water be holy water?” I ask.

  “Any water can be blessed, yes.”

  “What about pee?”

  He scowls at me.

  “That's mostly water, right?” I point out. “I'm not trying to be funny! It's a genuine question!”

  “You can't bless urine, Mark.”

  “But can you bless the part of it that is water?”

  “I'm not having this discussion with you right now.”

  “But basically any water can be turned into holy water?”

  “Yes, but -”

  “Just because a priest say that's what it is?”

  “Anyone with faith can perform the blessing,” he explains, although he sounds a little annoyed. “Now, instead of peppering me with questions, perhaps we can get on with the task at hand?”

  He looks back at the screen.

  “So this holy water,” I continue. “Is it... I mean, what's it used for?”

  “A variety of purposes.”

  “Why did you have some with you yesterday?”

  He looks over at me.

  “There are certain entities,” he says cautiously, “that are deterred by holy water.”

  “Ghosts are scared of it?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you have it?” I look at his wrist, where there are still some burn marks. Or at least, they look like burn marks. “Did the ghost of that woman attack you?” I pause for a moment, as I think back to when we were in the church earlier. “Did the ghost of Judith Whatshername make those marks on your arm?”

  “Move the truck forward a little.”

  I push the little joystick, and the truck starts to once more trundle along.

  “Slower,” Liam says.

  “It won't go any slower.”

  He sighs.

  “What else can holy water do?” I ask. “Is it like -”

  “I'm not talking any more about holy water!” he snaps. “I brought you along because I thought you might be useful, but if you keep -”

  Suddenly he freezes, as he stares at the screen.

  “Stop the truck!” he shouts.

  “Why?”

  “Just stop the damn truck!”

  I do what I'm told, but when I look at the screen I still don't see anything except the wall. I don't feel as if I'm being watched, but that might be because I'm viewing the church's interior through the camera that Liam installed on the truck before it was sent inside. As I continue to stare at the screen, however, I notice that the video feed is starting to flicker slightly.

  “I saw her,” Liam says suddenly.

  I turn to him.

  “She was there,” he continues, and now he looks white as a sheet, as if he's genuinely shocked by something. “It was only for a frame or two, but I saw her.”

  “Show me,” I reply.

  He pauses, and then he swallows hard before closing the laptop's lid.

  “Later,” he says, getting to his feet. He seems almost to be panicking. “I need to review the images first.”

  “But can't I at least see the -”

  “Later, Mark!” he says firmly. “Can you just stop asking me all these questions? I need to think!”

  “Is it the -”

  “I have to go back and study this,” he continues, turning and hurrying away as I stand up. “I h
ave to compare it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I call after him, but he's already pushing his way through the overgrown grass, leaving me standing all alone next to the church's door. “What about the little truck?” I shout. “Are we just leaving that in there? Liam? What about the truck?”

  ***

  A few hours later, as the evening sky begins to darken, I'm sitting outside the pub while I wait for Liam. I followed him here from the cemetery, and he told me to sit right here and he said he'd come down to talk to me soon. That was ages ago, though, and I'm starting to think that he's forgotten.

  Realizing that this is ridiculous, I get to my feet. I must have been here for two hours now, just doing nothing, and I'm cold. I look up at Liam's window and see that the light is still on, and then I turn to leave.

  “There you are,” a voice says, and I glance back to see that Liam is finally back down. “I'm sorry I took so long, Mark,” he adds, and it's clear that he's pretty flustered by something. “I just...”

  His voice trails off for a moment, as if he's lost in thought.

  “What are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asks finally.

  “Nothing,” I reply. “Why? What's going on?”

  “I want you to come with me somewhere,” he continues. “Will you do that?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You'll see. It's not far, just a short drive.”

  “Can't you at least tell me where -”

  “Meet me right here at 8am. Please, Mark. I need you for this.”

  I want to ask him more questions, but somehow I get the feeling that I'm not going to get any answers. He seems absolutely wrapped up in his thoughts, as if he's barely aware that I'm here. Frankly, he seems more and more crazy with each passing second, but I can't shake the feeling that maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. Or, at least, that I want to find out more.

  “I'll be here,” I tell him finally, “but can you at least tell me where we're going?”

  Turning to me, he pauses before shaking his head.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Because if I told you,” he continues, “you most certainly would refuse to come.”

  “Why?”

  “I'll see you here at eight in the morning,” he adds, taking a step back, “and get a good night's sleep, Mark. Tomorrow will be... Well, it'll be difficult. You'll need to be strong. Thank you for everything you've done today.”

  With that, he turns and heads back inside, leaving me standing all alone outside the pub. I want to go after him, to make him give me some actual answers, but instead I sigh as I turn and start walking away along the darkening street. I still don't know quite what happened today, and I definitely don't know what I believe, but I suppose the only way to learn more is to show up tomorrow and see what Liam wants. I have to admit, he gave me the chills just now when he said that tomorrow will be difficult, but that's probably just him being dramatic. I'm sure it'll be fine.

  Reaching the cottage, I open the door and step inside. I want to go to my room and think about things, but as I pass the living room door I stop and see that Caroline and Brian are standing waiting for me.

  “We need to talk,” Caroline says bitterly, with angry tears in her eyes. “Now!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mark

  “These are my parents,” Caroline says as she hands me one of the framed photos from the mantelpiece. “Matthew and Laura Neill. They lived here in Briarwych all their lives.”

  “Okay,” I reply tentatively as I look at the picture, “but what -”

  “And these are my grandparents,” she adds, handing me another picture that looks even older. “They're my father's parents, Anthony and Annie. They also lived here their whole lives, except for the period when my grandfather was serving in the Second World War.”

  “Cool, but -”

  “And here's Anthony with his parents,” she says, handing me yet another picture, “Tom and Peggy, along with Anthony's little brother Jack who died when he was very young. They all lived here in Briarwych their whole lives too.”

  “That's great,” I tell her, “but why -”

  “People in Briarwych stick together,” she continues, interrupting me again. “Families tend to stay in the area. You knock on any other door, and most people here will be able to tell you the same thing. They'll show you photos of their families going back generations. We don't get many new arrivals, and not many people leave. That means that people here know the village very well. We know what works and what doesn't. And we don't appreciate it when people come to Briarwych and tell us how to live our lives.”

  “We heard you've spent the day with that priest,” Brian says dourly. “What's his name again? Dermott?”

  “I was only -”

  “I told you to keep away from him,” Caroline adds.

  “Actually, I don't think you technically said that,” I point out.

  “Don't be smart!” Brian snaps.

  “I'm sure he filled your head with a lot of nonsense about the church,” Caroline continues, as she comes over and sits next to me on the sofa. “The truth, the only truth you need to understand, is that nothing needs to be done. That church has stood locked for seventy years now, and it can stand locked for another seventy, for another seven hundred, without anything happening. We've managed to prove that everything will be fine just so long as the door remains locked and nobody goes interfering with the place.”

  “What do you think is in there?” I ask.

  “I honestly don't know.”

  “But if -”

  “And I don't need to know,” she adds, with fresh tears in her eyes. “Truly, Mark, none of us has any need to know exactly what's in the church. So long as the door stays locked and shut, the situation is contained. And so long as the situation is contained, nobody needs to worry about anything. Do you understand? Everything's fine as it is and it'll continue to be fine. That man wants to interfere, but he's only going to cause trouble. Nobody has been hurt by the church while we've been keeping it contained. We know what's best for Briarwych, not some man who's been sent here by people who don't understand how life works here.”

  “He only wants to help,” I reply, and I'm surprised to realize that I'm defending Liam. “He wants to -”

  “He doesn't get it,” Brian says.

  “He seems to know a lot about the church,” I tell him.

  “He might have read a lot,” he replies, “but he doesn't know. Not really. And we're the ones who'll have to live with the consequences of his meddling.”

  “So you'd rather just leave it alone?” I ask, struggling to believe what I'm hearing. “You believe there's something in that church, don't you? Even if you don't know what it is, you believe Judith Prendergast is -”

  “Don't say that name!” Caroline snaps angrily.

  “But -”

  “Never say that name! Not in my house! Not in this village!”

  As she speaks, she makes the sign of the cross against her chest.

  “But you believe something's in there,” I continue, “and you just want it left there?”

  “We want it to leave us all alone,” Brian says, “and so far, our way has worked pretty well. For more than seventy years, no-one got hurt. We left the church alone, and it left us alone in return. You and this Liam Dermott man might not agree with that, but I don't care. It's not your decision to make.”

  “And what if it's getting stronger?” I ask.

  Caroline shakes her head.

  “What if it can't be contained forever?” I continue. “What if it's going to find a way out of there?”

  “Why would it do that?” Brian replies. “If it's a ghost, it'll just be happy to haunt the place. If it was going to cause any more trouble than that, outside the church, it would've done it by now.”

  Sighing, I get to my feet and head to the door.

  “You're not to speak to that man again,” Caroline says. “Do you understand?”
<
br />   I turn to her.

  “I forbid it,” she continues. “We both do.”

  I look over at Brian, hoping for some help.

  “You heard what my wife said,” he tells me. “Best listen to her, boy.”

  “This village has managed the church for decades,” Caroline continues, “and no-one got hurt. We can do the same again, so long as nobody from outside interferes.”

  “But somebody did get hurt,” I remind her. “Kerry got hurt. Kerry died.”

  “Kerry suffered an aneurysm,” she says firmly.

  “You know that's not true.”

  “It's what the autopsy said.”

  “The autopsy also said that the cause of the aneurysm seemed to be an unnatural swelling of the -”

  “That's nonsense.”

  “Why are you lying?” I ask.

  “Language, Mark,” she replies, and I can tell that she's struggling to hold back. “Besides, Kerry had no right going into that church. If anything happened to her in there, she brought it on herself.”

  “What about the next Kerry who comes along?” I ask.

  “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  “You can't be sure of that.”

  “We'll start by making sure no more outsiders come and cause trouble,” she replies, fixing me with a determined stare. “We thought it would be okay to let some people in. That was a mistake. We were wrong.”

  “In other words,” I reply, “you wish you'd never let us come here.”

  “Kerry would be alive,” she says coldly. “The door would never have been breached. That man wouldn't have come to cause trouble.”

  Brian puts a hand on her shoulder, as if he senses that she's getting angrier.

  “I'm sorry we spoiled your perfect village,” I tell her, “but it's not our fault. If you leave that church the way it is, sooner or later someone's always going to wander along and get curious. It's just human nature. That church is like a landmine, waiting for someone to step on it. You can try to leave it alone and cover it up, but someone'll stumble onto it eventually.”

  “Not if they mind their own business.”

  “Bullshit!” I blurt out, although I immediately know that I've said too much.

  “Go to your room, Mark,” Caroline replies. “Perhaps you can spend some time thinking about your behavior. And I hope you understand that you are under no circumstances to have any contact with Liam Dermott again. If you so much as mention his name, we'll have no choice but to send you straight back to London. Is that what you want? To live in a filthy, crime-ridden hell?”